


millions (i still want more)

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Early Days, Idiots in Love, M/M, frank’s a little rat bastard, gerard has a gay crisis, thats it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: the thing is, gerard doesn’t think he looks at other guys this way.so he’s really not sure what to make of it when this short, pasty boy with a fohawk, absolutely dripping with sweat and reeking of alcohol and red bull, flashes him a grin and a wink, and suddenly gerard can’t remember who the fuck he is for at least three minutes.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	millions (i still want more)

**Author's Note:**

> no beta we die like men

the thing is, gerard doesn’t think he looks at other guys this way. he’s thought guys were attractive, sure- he’s pretty sure he’s straight, but he’s not blind. gerard knows pretty when he sees it. he hasn’t put much thought into his sexuality, granted, but he’s exclusively dated women in the past, and it’s never bothered him. 

so he’s really not sure what to make of it when this short, pasty boy with a fohawk, absolutely dripping with sweat and reeking of alcohol and red bull, flashes him a grin and a wink, and suddenly gerard can’t remember who the fuck he is for at least three minutes. 

it’s a little bit earth shattering. the set ends, and gerard takes an immediate smoke break. 

a november evening in new jersey isn’t the best time to be hanging around outside for more reasons than gerard can honestly think to count. the one at the forefront of his mind as he lights up is that it’s fucking freezing, and as the cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth he pulls his too-thin jacket a little tighter around his middle, and shoves his lighter back into his pocket. his back hits the cold metal door gently, and he winces a little- but it feels good, kind of, what with the sweat. 

the shows are great. they’re fucking weird, but great. he’d never considered himself a performer until he picked up a mic and sang some graphic poetry about violent crime and vampires, and suddenly, this shit is all he can think about. he dreams about the shows. the kids who are definitely too young to be in packed bars singing songs about dying he wrote depressed in his parents basement- it’s so much all at once, and he lives on that high, pleasantly coasting in the clouds for a few hours every couple nights. it’s weird. it’s nice. 

he hadn’t fucking planned on frank. 

frank iero is a freight train about to crash into a freight train, but as a person, and gerard is somehow tied to the intersection of those tracks. he could write a song about it. he won’t. he feels dizzy in the headlights, a cornered deer with a gun to its head, but instead of facing imminent death it’s just some dorky boy with a guitar who got a fucking neck tattoo so he would have to be in their band to live. it’s ridiculous. he’s ridiculous. 

gerard is crazy about him. 

he takes a drag. the door behind him pushes, and he stumbles a few paces out of the way, hesitant gaze flicking between the dark pavement and the dark hall opening up. the faint light of a nearby street lamp reflects off sweat and teeth, and the door falls shut behind frank iero, speak of the goddamn devil. 

“you good?” he asks. 

gerard nods, blows out a plume of smoke. “yeah.” he looks to the ground, watching cautiously from his peripheral as frank fishes a pack out of his own pocket and looks at gerard sheepishly. he smirks and yanks out his lighter. “just needed a minute.”

frank nods and lights his cigarette, passes the lighter back and sits himself down on the steps leading to the back alley. he looks up at gerard and gives him a little ‘come hither’ gesture, and gerard follows. 

“i think this is the part in the movies where we talk about the future,” frank says matter of factly. gerard hums. “what do you think? big things on the horizon?” 

“oh, for sure.” he laughs. frank looks at him. gerard’s gaze catapults to the street below. “no bullshit, i have, like... i’ve always had a feeling, you know? about this. like a real gut feeling that we’re on the right track.” he pauses for another drag, huffs it out with a short laugh. “it’s corny as fuck, but i really think this was meant to be.”

he glances over. frank is still looking at him imploringly, like he’s hanging on to every word that comes out of gerard’s mouth. he swallows hard. 

“the band?” frank asks. 

gerard’s eyes could feasibly burn a fucking hole into the center of the earth, what with the intensity he’s staring at it. “yeah.” 

it’s quiet. in that quiet, gerard seems to realize how close they’re sitting. it’s not as if they haven’t been closer- they sleep in a tiny van with three other dudes almost every night, it’s hard not to be on each other all the time- but it’s rarely just the two of them. and then it’s all he can think about, how close they’re sitting, how their hips are nearly joined, arms and knees bumping every now and again, until gerard kind of loses his breath and has to focus all of his energy on stubbing out his cigarette and flicking it into the alley to keep from fucking combusting. and then he has nothing to do with his hands-

“hey, gee?”

gerard’s train of thought crashes instantly. “yeah?”

he tries not to, but he looks at frank again. frank’s looking at him, head cocked to the side and a little dopey smile on his face, cigarette twirling between two fingers as his eyes scan over gerard’s face. “you sure you’re good?”

“yeah,” gerard lies through his teeth. 

“you know, you put on a pretty good show onstage,” frank says, taking another slow drag on his cigarette- and now that really ought to be illegal, what the fuck, how the hell is gerard supposed to focus on the fact that they’re bandmates and friends and not think about- “but you’re the worst fucking liar i’ve ever met.”

gerard can’t help but laugh. he leans his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands, shakes his head a little as he rakes his fingers through his dirty hair. “i’ve been told,” he mumbles. 

“so what’s up?” frank asks. gerard doesn’t respond, just stares straight out into the middle distance, the dead center of the alley. frank tosses his cigarette and turns his body toward gerard. “c’mon, you can talk to me.” 

“maybe there’s nothing to talk about,” gerard tries. 

“bullshit.” gerard sits up a little, looks over frank. he looks serious, but his mouth still has a friendly curl to it. “and don’t tell me it’s not a big deal, cause you’ve been acting nervous all night. i notice things, you know?”

gerard swallows hard. “yeah?” 

“yeah.” 

then frank is leaning into his space, pointedly, and there’s no ignoring the rush of heat that goes straight to his face and the adrenaline that has his heart attempting to beat out of his chest at that. “i notice you,” frank says. and then frank kisses him. 

he tastes like smoke and beer and coffee, like adrenaline and sweat, like christmas and moonlight and running into a corner store in the middle of nowhere to pee at 4 AM in nebraska, like hope and panic and the kind of wholeness that makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest if he so much as breathes- and then gerard inhales, and it kind of feels like he’s going to die. instead he grabs frank’s sweaty t-shirt- why the fuck isn’t he wearing a jacket, it’s so fucking cold out right now- and shakes, and hopes. 

frank doesn’t break the kiss, as it happens. he scoots closer- how?- and slots their knees together- oh- and grasps gerard’s face with both of his hands and kisses him again and again and again, sits up a little and hovers over gerard’s lap until gerard huffs and yanks him down into it, frank’s knees straddling gerard’s thighs, and they kiss until gerard feels like he’s going to fucking faint, which- whether that’s from not breathing or the fact that frank iero is in his lap and kissing him is anyone’s guess. 

gerard gasps for air. frank’s lips land on the corner of his mouth, rest their for a while, end up pecking gerard’s lips again before wandering up his jaw, thumb tracing the way up to his ear, then leading down his neck for his lips to follow. gerard can only grab frank’s hips and cling for dear life, shaking and nearly praying it’s not a dream. 

“i’ve wanted to do that since day one,” frank admits into his skin, where his lips are still planting unhurried kisses. 

“yeah,” gerard wheezes. “i... yeah. jesus, frankie, warn a guy.” 

at that frank does pull away, to which gerard does pout just a little bit, but frank’s shit eating grin makes it a little hard to maintain. 

“but that’s no fun!”


End file.
